Lost
by Datenshii
Summary: [One-Shot] He's been alone before. He doesn't know when, or how, but he has. Fortunately, that rare kind of people always seem to fish him out of the sea of sorrow. Sequel is in progress.


**HAPPY BIRTHDAY, ICHIGO! 3**

**Yes, on this special day, I am back with a new story in a whole new category. I have loved Rurouni Kenshin for years, but have never had the gall to write anything in this fandom. And to those who know me, yes, I will update the other stories too. I do _not_ abandon stories. I don't have any inspiration, but I _will_ finish them.**

**Now then, this is a weird one-shot, which will have a multi-chaptered sequel. Tell me if it's worth anything, and if you like it, tune in for the moment I post the first chapter of the sequel.**

**Author: Datenshii**

**Genre: Friendship/Hurt/Comfort**

**Rate: T, because.**

**Pairings: None.**

**Disclaimer: I no own Bleach or Rurouni Kenshin. They are owned by Tite Kubo and Nobuhiro Watsuki respectively. *cries***

**Without further ado...**

* * *

LOST

…

They feared him.

The thought made him want to laugh humorlessly. Here, he was in a world of supernatural forces and deity-like beings, yet they feared him. He, who is not a Reaper, nor an Incomplete Soul, just a frail, powerless dead young man with an outdated reverse-edged katana filled with unknown feelings and unfamiliar voices.

He didn't know why – _how could he? _– but the situation sounded ironic. Like deja-vu.

They demanded his name. At their order, he felt frustrated to the point of boiling.

_Why are you asking me?! Do I look like I know what planet I came from?!_

They knew from the start that he, as a dead man, would lose all his memories, yet they demanded information from him, information he did not have. The only things he seemed to have were the clothes he wore, the strange, old, yet at the same time familiar katana – the only thing he found familiar ever since he landed in this twisted world they called Afterlife, really – the disjointed bits and piece of flashbacks that he sometimes wished would _go away_ and this indescribable weight on his very being, a burden that made his heart feel heavy and made him feel exhausted beyond his appearance-wise years.

He did not understand this burden, yet he felt it was well-deserved, and the moment he glanced at his sheathed weapon, it made him accept the bitter fact that it was never going to go away, somehow.

At the same time, while he pondered the burden and stared absently at the sword, whispers sprung up in his active consciousness.

_The.. Heart of… the Sword._

And he knew what his name was.

"Kenshin."

He blinked as he was startled out of his thoughts. Turning his head to the side, he noticed a young man with bright orange hair and clad in the traditional uniform-like black garb walking towards him. He was accompanied by a petite, raven-haired woman with big amethyst eyes, dressed in the same attire.

He said nothing, but his eyes asked a silent question.

"The old bastard said you can do as you wish, so long as you don't threaten the balance of the afterlife, or some shit like that," the young man said, grinning. He saw the petite woman kick the much taller swordsman in the shin, shouting something about 'respect'.

Softly, almost unnoticeably, Kenshin sighed in relief. The young man had won the argument. If he hadn't Kenshin would've ended up imprisoned, to be kept under watch so as not to threaten their precious afterlife, or worse. Something about 'dangerous, unstable individual'.

Really, all Kenshin wanted to do was go home and have some peace and silence, undisturbed.

And then he realized, _he had no home_.

Something in his mind hummed, as if this was not a new situation to him, but it still made his chest hurt. The people had avoided him from the beginning, too weak to sense his power, but still able to feel that he was 'dangerous', instinctively. There was no way to live in the Rukongai, as he had found out the place where he woke up was called.

On the other hand, he had no intention of becoming a Reaper. Judging by the heavy weight on his shoulders, he felt he'd somehow had enough war and bloodshed for more than a lifetime. He would never give up the katana – even though he still couldn't figure out why – but he also was probably never going to draw it again.

"Himura-san?" the woman called out in a worried tone. He looked at her. "Are you alright?"

"This one is fine, Rukia-dono. Just lost in thought," he said gently, smiling softly at her.

She seemed unconvinced, but nodded and let him be. After a few more moments of her and the young man talking, his thinking was interrupted once again.

"What are you waiting for?" the orange-haired man asked suddenly. Kenshin seemed startled, despite the fact that he had been listening to what they were saying. "Let's go already!"

"Oro?" he asked, dumbfounded. "Go? Where?"

"What do you mean, 'where?'," the man seemed annoyed. "Home, of course! You aren't going to stay here, are you?"

Even though the orange-haired Reaper had seemed to almost read the smaller man's mind…

"To the Living World? But this one is dead…"

"So what? I'm technically half-dead too, but who cares?" Kenshin was sure he could fish out some people who seemed still reluctant to accept the young man's allegiance, but abstained from side-tracking.

"But… this one does not want to impose, that he does not…"

"Okay," the taller man seemed to have reached a decision as he stuck his finger out and poked Kenshin in the chest. "You… are going to shut up now. Or I am going to have to tie you up and gag you. Either way, you're coming with me. You choose."

"H-hai, de gozaru!" Kenshin replied shakily, though inwardly his chest was filled with warmth and he felt a little amused, but also humble.

The young man smirked and retreated smugly. "Good, now let's go, or we'll miss the Senkaimon."

At said gate, Kenshin waited patiently for his companion to say his farewells to Rukia-dono before they started their journey through the tunnel.

Kenshin used this time to ruminate some more.

His day seemed a little brighter when, by chance, he met this young man, who, after saving his hide, had demanded answers, as others before him did, and after listening to his story for a bit, had offered to help him out. Long story short, the young man used his connections and the Reaper organization's debt to him to get Kenshin out of this mess.

He'd only a little bit of time to get to know this young man, indirectly, but he was already offering him a place to stay, and for someone like Kenshin, the situation seemed both familiar and heart-warming, and suspicious. In a corner of his mind, he wondered if Ichigo-san had a hidden interest, but he swiftly crushed that line of thought.

Ichigo-san had been nothing but kind to him, despite his rough attitude. He at least owed the man the respect, since he had virtually nothing else to offer, other than his body – which he was reluctant to offer, though he was pretty sure Ichigo-san did not have such orientations.

Before soon, he realized they had arrived in the Living World. For a brief second, he stood on the edge of a building and studied the city.

The world was _nothing_ like this. At least that much he remembered. He felt a sliver of pride snaking around his chest. Japan had evolved a lot.

He was easily able to keep up with the young man, the skills from his previous life allowing him to do so. They stopped in front of a building with a sign that read 'Kurosaki Clinic'.

"This is it," Ichigo-san announced, and if Kenshin looked harder, he would have found pride in his voice, though the young man would probably never admit such.

Kenshin, though, was feeling nervous. Fortunately, a hand landed on his shoulder.

"Don't worry, they might be insane and dysfunctional, but they're a welcoming bunch, at least."

Kenshin smiled. Suddenly, he wasn't worried about the outcome anymore. "Thank you, Ichigo-san."

Ichigo-san might have smiled too, but then again, it must have been the sun's rays.

_The End… or is it?_

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**That's it. Tell me if you like it, love it or would rather watch it burn. Though about the last one, there's a high chance I won't give a damn, so post at your own risk.**

**Read and review your opinions, and if you like it, follow me for the sequel.**

**Ja ne!**


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